


Not Like a Regular Dad, A Cool Dad

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Fatherklok Epilogue, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: On the flight home from Sweden, Nathan tries to alleviate some of the lingering tension.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nathan and Skwisgaar's friendship *might* be my favorite in the show? Also Fatherklok ruined my life and left me for dead.

The flight home was uneventful. Toki, tuckered out after issuing an unholy beatdown on Murderface, snored softly from a nearby couch. Murderface was in the sick bay, receiving treatment for said-beatdown. Pickles, loaded in the cockpit, kept trying to convince the pilot to let him take the plane for a spin. (From the way the craft periodically nosedived into oblivion, it seemed he was successful.)  
  
Nathan watched Skwisgaar play from the opposite end of the lounge. He hadn’t released his instrument since he’d stepped on board, a hum of arpeggios wafting through the air. The sound was familiar; Nathan hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. Still, halfway across the Atlantic, he noticed the rhythm was a little more frenetic than usual. Skwisgaar hadn’t played in days–-a lifetime for him–-so perhaps he was rusty. Skwisgaar had also been quiet since take-off–-again, not out of character, or unwanted. Their mutual comfort in silence was one of a reasons they got on so well. But the cottony tension of the previous week had yet to dissipate.  
  
Nathan groaned. He wasn’t a _fixer_. When had this become his job?  
  
He hunkered down beside Skwisgaar. The sudden weight surprised Skwisgaar, but didn’t break his concentration.  
  
“So, uh, I’ve been doing some reading about wolves. Hey, don’t–-you can’t police how I spend my free time. Anyway. I know you see yourself as, like, a lone wolf.”  
  
Skwisgaar glanced at him briefly, then returned his gaze to the strings.  
  
“But listen. The lone wolf is a myth. Wolves travel in packs, they need each other to survive. There are four other wolves here, running around the woods, fucking shit up. You are part of a pack, alright?”  
  
Skwisgaar’s fingers slowed to a halt. His skin stretched taut around his mouth, his cheeks hollowed as he bit at their inside. Nathan pointed to the instrument in his lap.  
  
“You’ve been at that a while.”  
  
He shrugged. “I’m fines.”  
  
“You should take a break. It looks like you’re starting to cramp.”  
  
Skwisgaar flexed his fret hand. Nathan took the opportunity to seize the neck of the guitar.  
  
“I plays through woirse.”  
  
“Do you want carpal tunnel? Because that’s how you get carpal tunnel.”  
  
Nathan deposited the guitar beside the couch and slid to his knees, inching sideways to reach the mini-fridge. Within was a menagerie of ice packs in an array of colors and shapes. Nathan sifted through the frosty tigers, stars and swords.  
  
“Which one was your favorite again? The red one?”  
  
Skwisgaar covered his mouth with his hand. “I likes de green ones.”  
  
“Oh, right, the dinosaur. Heh. This guy’s pretty cool. _Hey guys I’m a dinosaur, I’m gonna eat all these leaves, rawr rawr rawr_.” He tapped the head of the beast against Skwisgaar’s knuckles, earning a chuckle. The ice pack was large enough to cover both of Skwisgaar’s hands; he relinquished them and allowed Nathan to secure the pack with a towel. “There. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. You know the drill.”  
  
His face unobscured, Nathan realized Skwisgaar was smiling.  
  
“What?”  
  
His smile twisted with something sinister.  
  
“You’re a _really goods_ dad, Nathan.”  
  
“ **FUUUUUUCK OOOOOFFFFFFFF**.”


End file.
